


The Curtain Rises (Act II)

by theamazingbard



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Confident Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion-centric, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Possibly Pre-Slash, jaskier/ofc KIND OF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24896932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamazingbard/pseuds/theamazingbard
Summary: Jaskier's life does not end after the incident on the mountain. He's got plenty adventures of his own waiting for him. This tale includes, but is not limited to: love, self discovery, secret parentage, and perhaps a lineage he could only dream of. All this while recovering from a debilitating broken heart. (Fuck you, Geralt.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 91





	The Curtain Rises (Act II)

**Author's Note:**

> first witcher fic! (i have another idea. if i finish this one. which i want to.) also first in a series! probably.

Despite all the misfortune that has befallen him in the last few months, no one could deny him the pleasure, nay, the right to celebrate his birthday. He finds the perfect tavern, one that’s been aching for the right bard to steal the night away with the right songs. The audience, of course, is tremendous. They love what he gives to them, and he openly eats up their attention. 

Though he mostly focusses on newer songs, there are requests for earlier, more famous works. Ones that he’d prefer to distance himself from for various reasons. However, he can never truly cut ties from anything that he’s made. His songs are like his children. He loves them all. As does his adoring crowd. 

After he finishes his frankly marvelous performance, Jaskier sits at the tavern counter and flags down the barmaid. He smiles wide at the lovely woman with the cool and frothy ale. "It's my birthday, today." He tells her. 

"I know. You said a few times in between your songs." Her voice held interest, but only one born of politeness. That's only because, he reasons, she hasn't had the time to really get to know him. Even though his songs are a very large, very important part of him and she must have been paying attention. 

He nods happily. With his purse full tonight, he can not only afford a good room, but a warm meal and the very best of ales. True, he should probably be saving some money for his continuing voyage across the Continent, but he can always inspire people to give generously after he performs. Well, most of the time. His fame has grown over the years, but there will always be those without taste. 

The barmaid pours the ale into a tankard. 

The innkeeper begins to walk away, but Jaskier can't quite allow her to do that. There are still important things to address. Namely, how this is truly his day and nothing, absolutely nothing will keep him from good company, being joyous, and a lovely meal to celebrate life. And his birthday. 

"How would you suggest a lonesome bard such as myself spend such a glorious evening? Perhaps... with a new friend?" She blinks and turns her attention back to him. He takes a sip of his ale. The woman in front of him is older, probably around 70. She definitely has stories to tell. Perhaps if he's lucky, he'll get to hear a few. He places his head in his hands, and scootches forward in his seat. “I’m sure you’ve served many interesting characters who walk through those doors. I’d love to hear about them.” 

"You're still young, aren't you? Why don't you talk to all the pretty fans you have out there?" She nods towards the people milling around in the tavern. 

It was certainly a noble way to go about the rest of his evening. Fun. But alas, his heart isn't in it. Not tonight. It isn't that he hasn't slept with anyone since his debilitating heart break, it's just that... well, he'd rather actually be happy than find himself reminded of something he can't have. Besides, "I'm not as young as I was. Young at heart, certainly!" No, he just had to waste his youth on a mongrel that wouldn't age. Fucker didn't even appreciate the sacrifice he made. 

The innkeeper also did not appear to appreciate his predicament. In fact, she snorts. Laughing at him. On his BIRTHDAY. "You're what. 25? 26?" She asks him. 

Jaskier lets out a laugh. Alright, he can appreciate the fact that he might look a bit young, but he has earned his years. There is romance in aging. A wisdom he hadn't felt when he was just starting out. And all the stories he collected over time were his by right. Few in their mid-twenties could claim a repertoire such as he has. "I’ve been round our lovely sun forty-five times, now." 

Once more, the innkeeper laughs. "Do you see that man? Just there? He has graying beard and bushy brows." She gestures to the fellow, a few tables away. "That’s my son. He is 44. I'm not sure what trick you're trying to play, or why, but there's no cream on the Continent that would keep anyone looking like you. Not without magic." With that, she walks away, to tend to another patron. 

Left alone to his thoughts, Jaskier takes another long swig of ale. It's not the first time he's heard that he looks youthful. He's always thought of it as a blessing. Perhaps the creams and salves and whatnot have helped ease the wrinkles, not that he’s always had money at hand to purchase such luxuries. But as he looks into an empty glass, he studies his reflection. Really looks at himself. He's never found a gray hair. Save for a small scar by his ear, there are no lines on his face. Though his peers at Oxenfurt are losing more and more energy, Jaskier still feels filled to the brim. 

There have been instances where he's been accused of being a half elf, or somehow using enchantments to appear as he does. Back when he was traveling with a heartless fiend of a witcher, said witcher jumped to his defense each and every time. No, he has no elf blood. Just a bard. 

Just a bard, he tells himself. One with a bit of nobility. (Not something he’d likely mention off the cuff.) Beyond that? 

Jaskier would know, he thinks. He would know if there was something quite different about himself. Besides his musical abilities, that is. And yet. Hm. After being asked, or accused so many times about lying about his age, it’s starting to become something of a bother. 

He’s not sure who he can turn to, to talk about this. Most would think him silly, foolish for believing that there’s more to this. The others might condemn him for being other before it’s even proven to be true. Jaskier certainly doesn’t like to imagine a world where he’s ostracized for something he has no control over. 

There’s a pang of guilt as he remembers one of his most famous songs did such a thing to elves. He was young and stupid then. Nothing he can do about it now. ) 

Focus. Youth. 45. Birthday. Though it’s likely nothing, he decides that he might as well make a trek to his old alma mater. There’s bound to be an answer in its grandiose library. If not... well, who is he to lose a good night’s sleep over feeling and looking good? There are worse fates to be subjected to. 

Oxenfurt is days away. He can possibly make it there by the end of next week. Especially if he gets a good night’s sleep and rises early. But where’s the fun in going to sleep while the stars shine bright, when there’s songs unsung, and wine left to drink? 

What a terrible choice to have to make. 

Jaskier finishes off the rest of his ale in record time and decides to mingle among the people. If he looks as young as everyone says he does, why not take advantage? 

And so, for the remaining hours of his birthday, Jaskier lives life to the fullest. This may or may not include kissing strangers and getting drunker than he has been in weeks. Which comes first? Well. Who's to say? 

Waking up is hell, of course, but Jaskier isn’t in a rush to get to Oxenfurt. He sleeps off as much of the hangover as possible before heading back out on the road. 

The next few days are not unlike his last, with the exception of walking towards a specific destination. He plays in the towns he stops in, save for when his voice needs a rest. Food comes pretty easily, though it’s not always as flavorful as he prefers. The stories... Well, instead of seeking out new ones, he’s a bit stuck at the moment with the ones he already has. 

At this point in this life, he should be married. Perhaps with a child or two. His parents would be happier for it. Less embarrassed. Jaskier doesn’t care for the life they lead (save for, perhaps, the fine clothes, company, and the food. Melitele, the food). It is unfortunate that he has no idea of what comes in the next part of his life. 

Plainly put, he would like to continue to travel, write great ballads, and find answers to questions he didn’t know he has. Without a muse, he feels aimless. Perhaps that is something else he can find at Oxenfurt. Inspiration. Nothing tastes as sweet as a good idea. 

The perfect trip to Oxenfurt, thusly, would be: finding the right book on aging and how it might be otherwise stunted. Then, finding an amazingly interesting muse. Finally, he’d be on the road again, adventures and new words his for the taking. 

Still, who can blame him if he takes his time on the road? There are more taverns to play in, more people to enthrall, and more wines to be tasted. Perhaps not the best of wines, but one never knows. 

Nearly a week and a half later, he arrives at Oxenfurt. It’s a grand sight, what with people milling and seething about in a crowd. Discussing philosophy, the arts. A home away from home. He plans to spend the evening talking amongst friends, tell them all about the adventures he’s had. Thankfully, he hasn’t been back recently enough that he’s run out of tales to tell. Truth be told, once he left the witcher’s side, adventures have been few and far between. Worse still, they haven’t been nearly as exciting. He shudders at the thought that he might have already peaked. Surely not. 

He runs into some of the professors there. For once, Jaskier really thinks about how they look. Past the superficial level, of course. Truth be told, most of the professors here are quite sexy. (This might be due to the fact that they are scholarly. Never let it be said that a wise man is unattractive.) But they do look older than he does, despite having been born within five years of one another. 

They huff, and ask how it is he does it. It must be magic of some sort. To which, he has found himself replying: “Traveling keeps me young!” His peers do not question him beyond this, for which he’s grateful. Perhaps if they knew something, they would offer information. 

He’s asked if he would like to teach for a semester. The idea is appealing, though he’s not sure if he wants to settle down quite yet. Jaskier does, however, accept a room. It will be nice to have a place to sleep for the next week or so. Warm and dry. Not the highest of luxuries, but one he does covet all the same. 

Jaskier can waste no more time when he’s so near the library after so long on the road. He has some inkling of where to start, but with a question as vague as agelessness goes, it’s going to take some time to narrow it down. 

Once he’s cleaned up, well rested, and caught up with his friends, he starts his noble search in the library. He remembers where the biology section is quite well, as the last time he spent time in this library was wooing a rather attractive doctor in training. There was hardly any time for reading, however. 

This time, he runs his fingers along cracked spines of the old books before deciding on a more general text. Once he finds a hint for something regarding... whatever this is, he can move onto something more specific. Simple enough. 

As he continues to research an unknown condition, he finds that it isn’t all that simple after all. There’s nothing in the first text. Or the second. Jaskier figured that this might not be easy, but statistically, some things in life should be. Fuck. 

Eventually, he has to move away from biology. In truth, he’s mostly skimming the table of contents. He’s gotten better at pinpointing whereabouts he might look. To say that it’s a bit discouraging that biology didn’t yield the results he wanted is an understatement. He’s unsure if it’s a good or a bad thing that the library is so vast. 

Either way, there’s only one way to find out if there are answers. 

For the next week or so, Jaskier spends his time flipping through the pages of books he never touched in his studies as a student here. Though it is interesting to a certain degree, he hasn’t been able to find anything close to why a person might stop aging. Nothing that fits, anyway. 

There is, of course, magic. But the last spell or incantation or... magic-y thing that’s happened to him has long since passed. He remembers well the feeling of the djinn’s power. Nothing has come close since. (Not that he’s complaining.) He would notice if someone cast a spell or slipped some sort of potion into his drink, wouldn’t he? 

Another possibility he’s found is mutation. He doesn’t entertain the idea for long. 

On a whim, he moves onto creatures who are immortal. At this point, he thinks he knows more than the library. All his years traveling beside an expert will do that. Especially since he’s pestered said (greedy, asshole-ish) expert into telling him even a portion of what he knows. Still, he does his research. He is nothing if not thorough. 

There are few creatures that fit the description of immortal or ageless. Elves, of course, make an appearance. He is quite obviously not an elf. Even if one of his parents were unfaithful (which isn’t impossible?) he would have shown some... elf-y traits, wouldn’t he? That’s a no, then. The next creature does give him a bit of a laugh. Higher and lesser vampires. Since he has no thirst for blood, it’s safe to say that he can cross that off the list. 

Nothing comes close. Not even a little. 

Looking back, he realizes it was probably unlikely that he was going to find what he wanted right away, but that doesn’t make it any less disheartening. And after seven full days of studying, he has to take a break from it all. He could use a drink. Or twelve. Something to help him wallow away the fruitless amount of studying he’s done. 

Then again... perhaps he should consider that the answer has been in front of him all along: that he was just blessed in the looks department. Why should there be any other answer than he’s naturally gifted? Jaskier shouldn’t be so ungrateful. He should be out there and taking advantage of feeling so alive. Not to say that the things he’s learned are a waste. After all, he’s learned much this week about philosophy, life, and caricatures of creatures. There must be a song of sorts that he can piece together from the experience. That would truly be taking advantage of the time spent here. 

With newfound vigor, Jaskier decides that he shall compose for the rest of the day, and play for long as he is able tonight. He holds his head high and is ready to show the world that nothing can keep him down. 

On his way out of the library, he stumbles and bumps into someone. “Sorry ‘bout that!” He looks up, hoping that he hasn’t accidentally hurt someone in his haste to write a brilliant new song. Instead, he’s delighted to find a small framed woman with a frankly amazing feathered hat. The style she has does not distract from her beauty, however. She’s got dark brown skin, brown eyes, and blonde hair. “Wow. Might I say that you look incredible? Really. I almost fell for you!” 

The woman in front of him snorts. Oh, hell yes. He’d say that he still has it, but really, was that ever in doubt? “You might want to be more careful next time, then.” Then, her expression shifts. She leans into his space, just a bit. Not that he’s complaining. It’s not the first time he’s been sniffed. “Are you... Jaskier?” She, furrows her brow. “As in the White Wolf’s bard?” She then takes a step backward, and studies him as he did the books just a short while ago. 

Jaskier makes sure not to let his smile fall. Though he can’t say for sure some of the bitterness doesn’t leak through. “No. Well, yes. But, if anything he’s my witcher. Was.” He waves his hand, as if to push the mere mention of man. “Never mind all that. How was it you heard of me? And more importantly: did you like my music? Shall I play you a song? I was just on my way to collect my lute-” 

“I’m curious. Didn’t they say you traveled with him for 20 some odd years?” 

Great, so this is going to be about the witcher, and not at all about Jaskier. Superb, really. Just what he wanted to talk about. “Ah. Yes. Yes, I did. I have no idea where he is now, if that’s what you’re after.” Mood ruined, he lets out a bit of a sigh. “Perhaps one of the armorers? He has stopped here once or twice to have his own repaired.” 

The woman hums. “I’m sure he has. But I’m more interested in you.” Odd way to go about getting to know him, but he’ll take it! Jaskier is a legend in his own right, thank you very much. “You can call me Anora. I was wondering if we could go somewhere a little more private to talk?” 

Jaskier smiles. “I always have time to talk to a lovely lady such as yourself.” Besides, he’s been lacking in human contact for ages now. Getting to know someone new will definitely help the creative writing process. And, if he’s lucky, he’s just met his new muse. 

Anora mirrors his smile. The two of them exchange pleasantries as they walkt towards the courtyard. She asks most of the questions. About when he studied at the academy, for how long. Anora also wants to know about how he fared during the adventures he had been on. What he did while the witcher did his. Witchering. He told her everything. There were, perhaps, some embellishments, but they made the story that much more interesting. 

Just like when he plays for a crowd, Anora listens intently. An intoxicating feeling that. Being listened to, being heard. 

Eventually, they reach a garden, a bit more secluded than the rest of the courtyard. There’s one or two students deep in study, but other than that they are alone amongst the flowers. Jaskier actually loves coming here. The fresh air, the wonderful scent coming off the flowers, the never-ending sense of peace. It’s a good place to compose, or to relax before a particularly important performance. 

He and Anora take a seat on one of the benches. “-and that’s how I saved a sorceress from cruel imprisonment. She called it the most heroic thing she’d ever witnessed.” Well, at least she implied it. When they made love the whole rest of the night. Jaskier sighs as he thinks of that night. What part was the most terrifying, he still hasn’t decided. He looks over to his companion to see what she thought of the tale. Instead of looking properly delighted, she appears to be pensive. 

“All those adventures you went on, and you’ve never been seriously injured?” 

Jaskier hums. “Depends on what you mean. I’ve definitely escaped the clutches of death a time or... ten.” He shrugs. Those are also very fun stories depending on how drunk he is. “Never get involved with a djinn. I’ll just say that.” 

“Noted.” Anora says with a small laugh. “You remind me of a cousin. She also used to get lucky like that. Managed to get away with everything. Made me completely crazy. Also was extremely adept at playing the flute. She could charm anyone into doing nearly anything. She was of a... certain lineage, if you catch my meaning.” 

Jaskier opens his mouth, then closes it. “No.” He says slowly. 

Anora shakes her head. “You really have no idea, do you? I figured that was a possibility, but it would be so much easier to explain if you already knew.” She scratches at her head, just beneath her hat. “Have you heard of the fair folk?” 

It sounds like something he’s heard before, but he can’t recall it’s meaning at present. “Can’t say I have, no.” He is, however, starting to get the feeling that Anora has had an ulterior motive this entire time. Did she even care about all the stories he just told? 

“Fairies, then.” 

“Fairies.” He grins. “Fairies don’t exist.” Once, when he was sure that his former travel companion was asleep, he managed to look through his bestiary. He was amazed at some of the creatures there and equally disappointed to find that some were absent. Still, it was incredibly illuminating. Well worth sleeping on the floor that evening after he was caught flipping through something that wasn’t his. 

“They’re rare and incredibly hard to find, especially if you don’t believe in them in the first place.” She smiles a little. A knowing look. 

“But you know, do you?” He raises a skeptical brow. What would a witcher think of him, listening to all this? Yet, there is something that rings true to what she’s saying. Either that, or he wants it to be true. Wants it to be the answer he’s been looking for. Perhaps that’s why he stays seated. 

“I have a cousin. Quarter fairy. She has this... smell. Only ever smelled it on her. And you share that scent.” Anora leans in and sniffs him again. “Yeah. The exact same smell.” 

Feeling both caught and confused he shakes his head. “I. I think I would know.” 

“Unless you were told, it’s likely you wouldn’t have found for the next few years or so. I’m sure you’ve started to notice that you haven’t aged a bit in years.” She leans back and runs her gaze up and down. “You’re also a talented musician, good with people, and particular about your clothes. This could mean nothing. A series of coincidences. Or...” 

Jaskier knows that she’s got him. A good story will do that. He’s done this hundreds of times himself. But the subject is just so compelling. And the possibility that he’s from another world? Exciting, to say the least. Terrifying. Hilarious. “Or?” 

“Or there’s more to the story. You can come with me. Learn about a species so rare, people think they don’t exist.” 

As someone who has traveled the Continent, far and wide, it’s important to learn when and how to keep oneself safe. Chasing down a far-fetched story about fairies (and possibly being a bastard) would be insane. A death wish. 

But what a fantastic way to go it would be. 

“When do we leave?”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @anxiousbard. or don't. i'm not the boss of you


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